


Into the Dark

by goddessofcruelty



Series: Darkness [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Comeplay, Daddy Kink, Frottage, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Marking, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink, Scent Marking, Slow Build, Spanking, Tattoos, my apologies to John Green, non-con elements, stupid boys are stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter looks at him a long moment. “You deserve better, Stiles.” His voice is oddly intense.<br/>“They don't treat you any better. Why do you stay then?”<br/>Peter looks back down to his book. The reply is quiet, almost to himself... but Stiles hears it.<br/>“Because I don't.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keepfacepalm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepfacepalm/gifts).



> Prompt: I want Stiles to fall for Peter and make a first move. Like Peter is sonofabitch, but he is smart, he is kinda loyal (at least he WAS loyal to his family), determined and passionate, and Stiles wants it all directed on him ('cause he is fed up of being a second best. Or third best. Or just plainly overlooked. He wants someone for himself). I want Stiles willingly giving Peter what he needs in and out of bedroom. And getting everything he wants in return

“ _Go away, Stiles, you're not pack.”_

“ _Skinny, defenseless Stiles..”_

“ _Someone would have to protect Stiles.”_

 

It's like a mantra Stiles repeats to himself every time the pack ( _what pack? it's just Derek and Scott now_ ) reduces him to “just a human”.

All the times he's overheard it, they've implied it, or hell, even outright _said it to his face_ replay in his mind during lonely moments.

Especially moments like these, where he's been left behind again, staring out the window of Derek's burned out wreck of a house.

They've all gone out on some hunt again, leaving him to research.

Which, admittedly, he's been perfectly happy to do in the past. But the more he does it, the more they demand and order, rather than ask.

They've never been the type for thank yous.

“ _Wolf brothers_ ,” he says to himself out loud, mocking and bitter.

Scott and Derek had forged their new relationship while Stiles was trapped in his own mind.

Which was nice for Scott, because he'd always craved that kind of older man attention.

But Stiles was beginning to feel like the Pack's pet rather than a member.

_You're not pack._

_-_

He's been not-researching for a little over an hour when Peter shows up.

Stiles hates to admit it, but he's glad to see the older man. He doesn't show it of course, you can never give _anything_ away when it comes to Peter Hale.

If it wasn't for Stiles himself, Peter would be the smart one.

Of course, Lydia outclassed them both, but after losing two boyfriends and her best friend to the Pack, she made a concerted effort to stay the fuck away from the rest of them.

Stiles wondered, more and more frequently, if he should follow her lead.

Peter settles Stiles' favorite coffee-shop confection next to him, and Stiles nods his thanks as he reaches for it absently.

Now that Peter is here, he supposes he ought to actually do some work, so he sets his phone aside and picks up the first book in the stack, thumbing through it.

_Cat-sized mosquito-looking things with pincers and curly tails._

“Those two dumbs.”

Peter looks up from his book, an eyebrow delicately arched in enquiry.

“Five minutes of reading could have told them what they were looking at.” Stiles tone is annoyed and exasperated.

Peter shrugs. “Why should they? You always do it for them.”

Stiles shoots off a quick text. **Stirges. Blow to the head. Burn the nest.**

Then he looks up at Peter. “What else am I going to do?”

Peter looks at him a long moment. “You deserve better, Stiles.” His voice is oddly intense.

“They don't treat you any better. Why do _you_ stay then?”

Peter looks back down to his book. The reply is quiet, almost to himself... but Stiles hears it.

“Because I don't.”

-

For some reason the conversation sticks with Stiles, after Scott and Derek have returned, covered in dirt and blood, but cheerful at their success.

They didn't thank Stiles. They didn't involve Peter.

They ordered pizza, saying that Stiles could have some if he wants. Then they fucked off outside to practice some super secret alpha thing that Derek knows about.

The pizza came and neither of them had left money.

Peter paid for it, tipped the guy nicely, and then slipped out the back.

Stiles had opened the box and sighed. Anchovies. _Fucking werewolves._

He left too. Nobody noticed.

So now he's laying in bed, staring at the ceiling and really thinking about his place in the Pack.

_You're not Pack._

And he isn't, not really. Hell, _Peter_ is more pack than he is, and they both hate him.

Not that they don't have cause.

_At least Peter didn't kill Allison._

Admittedly, it wasn't _really_ Stiles who had killed Allison. However, he remembered everything the oni and nogitsune did, as if he had done it. There was no delineation between his memories and the demon's.

But Peter hadn't been in his right mind either.

He'd tried to explain it to Stiles, on one of their many occasions of being left together.

“Imagine,” Stiles recalls him saying, “that you can feel yourself healing, cell by cell for years, but it's not fast enough, and you're trapped in your body. You can't do _anything_. You have no pack, no anchor. The only thing you can think about it your entire family burning alive. You go through it over and over. You sift through the details that they give you. The Sheriff, the nurse, they talk to you, because the only thing that's managed to survive unscathed is your perfect hearing.”

“Then you feel your Alpha in town and it gives you enough strength to move, to find her. And she refuses to listen. Refuses to hear your plans. Refuses to listen to these things that are all you've had to hold on to.”

Peter had paused then, eyes lowered to hide whatever he was feeling. _Guilt? Sadness?Anger?_

“You get angry, furious, and before you know it, your claws have gone through her throat because she refuses to fight. And the Alpha power flooding you, the instincts are so _strong_ , Stiles. And if you're already a bit...unhinged... Well, you were there for the rest of that.”

He had leaned back and half-smirked, in that way that he had, that Stiles could see now as a mask, but only because the mask had come off for a moment. “Bruce Banner and I have a lot in common.”

“Dude, you've seen the Avengers?!”

Peter had snorted. “The Hulk came out in the sixties, Stiles.”

But Stiles had pointed his finger at him. “ _That's my secret, C_ __ap_ _ _, I'm always angry._ ”

Peter had smiled then, probably the first time Stiles had ever seen him truly, really smile. “ _I understood that reference._ ”

“Oh my GOD, you've been holding out, old man.”

Peter had shrugged and withdrawn for the rest of the night as if letting Stiles in, even that little bit, had pained him.

The last thing Stiles thought before he fell asleep was disquieting.

_Maybe it did._

-

When he gets up in the morning, there's a demanding text from Derek about something else, and Stiles sighs and gets on the roller coaster once again.

Only this time he stops for coffee and gets some of those pastries that Peter likes.

It's not like he's _taking notes_ , the werewolf just happened to mention how fond he is of raspberry danish a couple times, and Stiles maybe owes him for the coffee last night.

He tosses the bag down in front of where Peter has a head start on the books. “Morning. Grabbed ya something.”

He wasn't prepared for the shock on Peter's face. It was only there a second, but it was far deeper than simple surprise.

Stiles wonders when the last time was that someone did something for Peter.

He gets his own shock when Peter thanks him softly.

_When's the last time someone did that?_

-

Stiles starts to notice Peter.

Not absently, like he was before, but with _intent_.

He decides to do something nice for him. Because _reasons_ , okay? That have nothing to do with that smile he's only ever seen once that lights up Peter's eyes.

No, it's just that, since he came back from the dead, Peter has only done things that benefit the Pack. He deserves at least one nice thing done for him.

Scott's not going to do it, he's still bitter about getting the bite. Derek, well, Derek is emotionally stunted. That leaves Stiles as the logical choice.

_Mostly because there isn't anyone else in the pack._

But first, he needs data. He starts a list.

 

**Things that Peter likes:**

  * Raspberry Danishes




 

Stiles watches his cursor blink. He's known Peter for _years_ and that's all he's got?

Wait, Peter played basketball in high school. Stiles has seen the photo. He adds that with an asterisk.

Eh thinks some more. _Well, he likes form fitting jeans and absurdly low v-neck shirts._

And great, now he's thinking about the way Peter looks in said jeans, and yeah he guesses the older man has an alright (read: perfect) ass, and no, he's not going there.

_Focus, Stiles._

-

He starts taking notes. In code, of course, no way he's going to get caught doing this.

Peter mentions a particular vintage of red wine that he's fond of, during a discussion about how Scott has terrible taste in everything.

When the Sheriff takes Stiles out to a fancy dinner and Peter is there eating, Stiles notes his meal.

He finds out Peter goes to the orchestra and does, in fact, watch basketball.

Stiles wonders how much he has missed, and might spend a night or two (or twelve) thinking over past conversations.

He also spends some time thinking about how to go about this nice thing that he's planning, because Stiles can't just up and do something for Peter Hale.

That's not how they work.

No, Stiles needs some way backhanded way of getting Peter to go someplace he'd like.

More research required.

-

They're all gathered at Derek's when Stiles get the last piece of the puzzle he needs. A email reminder.

“Um, Scott?”

The Alpha looked up.

“Was there some assignment about seeing a play for British Lit?”

Scott furrowed a brow and tilted his head, and then nodded. “Oh yeah, we all went while...” He trails off as he remembers just where Stiles was. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Stiles is sighing dramatically and rubbing his forehead. “The write up is due Monday. Where am I going to find a play in the next three days?”

Scott considers. “You could just watch a movie and we could say you were with us?”

“Did you bring back an extra program?”

Scott looks sheepish. “Um.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and spends the next ten minutes pretending to google Shakespearean plays, when he's planned on Othello for a couple weeks. It's Peter's favorite.

“Hm, they're playing Othello up by Berkeley.” He looks at his cellphone. “In two hours. Fuck. Betty won't make it that far, and Dad won't be home in time. Dammit.”

Is he laying it on too thick? Scott just looks guilty and Derek looks, well constipated as usual.

“You're not borrowing the Camaro, Stiles.”

_Yes, perfect._

“But, Derek, how will I get there...?” Stiles does the wide eyes with batting lashes thing, which he knows for a fact that Derek is immune to. But Peter's not.

“Oh put those away.” Stiles turns the big eyes on him. “You're not borrowing my car.” Stiles lets his face fall. “I'll drive you.” Stiles gives himself to the count of three for his best surprised face, then jumps up with a fist pump, and deliberately knocks his pop onto Scott.

In the ensuing chaos, he nicks Derek's wallet and slides a couple twenties free. For some reason Derek always has plenty of cash on hand but never seems to use it for anything.

He also never seems to notice when it goes missing. And it's good practice for Stiles in case he ever needs to turn to pick-pocketing to support himself.

Besides, it's Derek fault that no one ever does anything for Peter.

“But..”

Stiles' worried face is unfeigned. If Peter fucks this up...

“I'm not going to a play with you dressed like that.”

Stiles looks down. “I'll have you know this is a hilarious math pun.”

“Peter's a theater nerd,” Derek volunteers unexpectedly. “He used to walk around calling himself a thespian.”

Scott frowns again. “Wait, isn't that-”

“No, Scott.”

“I'm sure I have something appropriate in my closet, Stiles.”

“Whoa, I'm not going in your bedroom. Who knows in what state I will emerge? If ever!”

Okay, maybe that was a bit over the top, but he's somewhat mentally flailing here because he's thinking about being in Peter's bedroom with him. And changing clothes means taking them off, and he is so not going there, and needs a distraction right the fuck now.

“Please,” Peter sneers, “I'm old enough to be your father.”

And yep, thinking about his dad totally fixes his problem.

“Oh, well okay then, Daddy.” Stiles is just mouthing off, but he's looking right at Peter, and he doesn't miss the split second flash of supernatural blue.

 _Interesting_.

-

Derek's jaw drops, actually drops when Stiles reemerges, because Peter has insisted on not only redressing him, but in _styling_ him.

Which apparently means a jacket, fancy shoes and a watch, and artfully messy hair with a special kind of gel, and some no-doubt-prohibitively-priced cologne.

“Dude, you look grown up and awesome!” Scott claps for him.

Derek closes his mouth and spins on his heel and leaves. Stiles shrugs.

“I guess he doesn't like dress clothes.”

Peter's voice is oddly smug. “Yes, we all know Derek is a Neanderthal. Shall we?”

He makes a big mocking show about offering his arm, and Stiles laughs and slides his hand in place.

“You okay with this, Scott?”

Scott's already busied himself in some first person shooter.

“Yeah, just have him home by curfew.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. He _meant_ with being left alone in case of an emergency.

_Oh well, not my problem now._

-

There. He's done it.

He's managed to get Peter to the play without the wolf realizing that something is being done for him.

Added bonus, Stiles learned a lot on the way.

Apparently, theater is one of Peter's passions and he tells Stiles about the history behind the theater, the actual play, and things about Shakespeare himself, and it's all so fascinating, Stiles doesn't even realize at first that they've arrived.

He gets stared at a bit as Peter steers him to their seats, and Stiles leans in to whisper to the older man. “Dude, I think they can tell I don't belong here.”

Peter leans back and rests an arm over the back of Stiles' seat. “Maybe they're appreciating my styling job.”

Stiles snorts. “Yeah, no. That kind of thing is pretty much wasted on me.”

Peter looks like he wants to say something, or at least Stiles thinks so.

He feels like he's getting better at reading the wolf. Peter's lip twitches, and his eyes get real serious a moment, but it's only that moment. Then whatever it was is gone, and Peter is back to his smirk.

“Feel free to take it all off.”

Stiles gives him an exaggerated eyeroll, in order to hide the odd flutter in his stomach at the thought of undressing for Peter.

But he can't resist pushing the older man's buttons. Of course not, it's Stiles, so he flutters his lashes and leans close. “Maybe later, _Daddy_.”

Peter freezes, honest to god _freezes_ in his spot, and stares him down, eyes flashing again. he reaches out and taps the underside of Stiles' chin with a claw.

“You are definitely a brat.”

Stiles needs to adjust himself, but he can't look away, he's caught in that gaze until the lights dim.

Only then is he able to tear his gaze away, and shift in his seat, focusing on not thinking about whatever that just was.

Fortunately, the play is done well, and given the history that Peter had regaled him with, it adds a lot of depth to his understanding of the piece, and he is thoroughly engrossed.

“I can see why this is your favorite,” he murmurs softly as they rise to make their way out. He's already writing his paper in his head.

Peter just nods and follows him out, one hand at the small of Stiles' back. The crowd is too loud to talk over. (Stiles doesn't even think twice about the casual touch. It feels natural.)

As they emerge from the crowded building, Stiles stomach rumbles and he flushes a bit.

Peter arches a brow. “When's the last time you ate?”

Stiles shrugs a bit. “I probably grabbed something with my meds this morning. I usually do.”

Peter arches the other brow.

“Hey, I've had a busy day okay, there were monster to slay and research, and the thing.” And by that he obviously means the play, since Stiles is waving his hand wildly in the general direction of the building.

“You need to take better care of yourself, Stiles.”

Peter's voice is soft but intense, and _no_ , this whatever, this _thing_ that's happening with the looks and the bonding, and the physical reaction is actually _not happening_ , he refuses.

Drawing on his rarely used sense of self-preservation, Stiles does not make eye contact with Peter, but sweeps himself into the car.

“I”ll bet there's a good curly fry place around here somewhere. We should see how their curly fries compare to those back home..” And really he's babbling right now, and digs out his phone, ostensibly to search for fast food, but Peter reaches over as he slides in, and bats it to the floor.

“Hey!” Stiles leans over and digs around for the device as Peter starts the car.

“No fast food. There's a nice sushi place about fifteen miles from here.”

Stiles wrinkles up his nose. “Dude, I am so not eating raw fish.”

-

He eats raw fish.

Initially, Stiles orders the 'safe' stuff on the menu, while Peter orders this big sample type platter.

But he proceeds to insist that Stiles try this and that, and feeds it to him when he balks, and by the end Stiles has found several new dishes that he enjoys.

He insists on paying though, with the money he'd embezzled from Derek of course, and Peter arches a brow.

“Hey, you drove me all the way up here and didn't ask for gas money, and let me wear your clothes so it's only fair, dude.”

Peter's gaze travels over Stiles in _his_ clothes a moment, and Stiles does _not_ get a shiver up his spine at all. He's just cold. In a sport jacket. In California. Inside a car.

“It was worth it,” Peter says at last, and Stiles nods without looking over because he doesn't want to meet that look.

“Thanks, dude. I really appreciated the assist.”

Stiles knows he's calling Peter dude too much but he can't think of anything else to call him right now but the Daddy thing For some reason, he's not finding that as funny anymore.

Peter drops him off and there's this weird moment where their eyes meet and hold, but Stiles is good at deflecting, and so he rushes something out about returning the clothes the next time he sees the wolf while he's propelling himself out of the car.

“Keep them.”

Stiles leans down and nods, says thanks again and then that _look_ again, and all of a sudden Stiles get this rush of boldness.

He's not really one to stop and think about his urges, Stiles never has been, and so he surges back into the car, clumsily climbing over the seat and mashing his lips with Peter's.

Peter is obviously caught by surprise, but he's not one to let an opportunity go by, and he pulls Stiles tightly to him. One arm curls around Stiles's waist, the other goes to the back of Stiles' head, gently stroking through his hair.

Peter parts his lips ever so slightly, and Stiles follows suit after a heartbeat. Peter shifts his head to slides them together more comfortably, and then slides his tongue out to flicker along Stiles' lips, tasting and exploring.

Stiles parts even further for him, and Peter can't restrain himself any longer. He licks his way into Stiles' mouth, the wolf in him thrilling at the way Stiles respond so eagerly.

By the time Peter regretfully pulls back, Stiles' amber eyes are dazed, pupils blown wide, and his lips are reddened. He looks so _fucking_ enticing that Peter is forced to look away and take a few deep breaths.

“Um. So. That. Was a thing. That happened.” Stiles can hear just how raw his voice is, and his pants are definitely too tight, and he should get out of the car but for some reason he's not moving.

Peter's lips quirk up, and he lifts his eyes to Stiles once more, reaching out to glide his thumb across Stiles' lower lip.

They part slightly and for one heart-stopping moment Peter thinks that Stiles is going to wrap his lips around that thumb, and if he does that all bets are off. Because Peter is already on the edge and he's very not good at denying himself things he wants. And he _wants_ right now.

“You should go in now.” Peter's voice is soft but strained.

Stiles seems to hear, or at least sense, the edge that he's walking, because he nods jerkily.

“Yeah. G'night Peter.”

The werewolf watches him walk up to the door.

Once Stiles is safely inside, Peter heads home alone.


	2. Chapter 2

It's three days before he sees Peter again, and he _might_ have spent that time thinking (read: obsessing) about that kiss, the way Peter reacted to him, and the way he reacted to Peter.

It also may have led to two or three (or seven orgasms), thinking about straddling Peter's lap, asking for 'More please, Daddy' as Stiles rode him, and _hey don't judge_.

It wasn't just the thoughts about sex, though. Stiles also obsessed about the way Peter had made him _feel_. Warm, safe, protected, equal, cherished, understood challenged, _wanted_.

Which was odd because that sounded a lot like being in love, and there is no way on earth that Stiles could be in love with _Peter Hale_.

-

“I'm in love with Peter Hale.”

Danny arches a brow at him through the computer monitor. “ _Peter_ Hale? Not Derek.”

Stiles looks at him oddly. “Derek and I don't even _like_ each other, Danny. Try to keep up.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “Fine. Why are you telling me?”

Stiles huffs and leans back. “Because I don't know what to do.”

Danny considers. “What do you want to do?”

Stiles pauses a moment. “I don't know.”

-

And that's really the crux of the problem.

Well, Stiles knows what he wants to do, which is get on his knees and let Peter fuck his mouth, before getting bent over whatever surface is handy.

But.

He is smart enough to know the problems that a fling would cause.

Also, Stiles likes _all_ the aspects of their relationship, and maybe wants more than just a fling.

And then there's Peter. Maybe he doesn't want anything. Maybe he does.

And Stiles knows its too much obsession after only one date, that wasn't really a date but a favor, and _he just needs to stop_.

Stiles successfully distracts himself with schoolwork until Pack meeting time, and he takes way too long to get ready just to end up getting dressed in his same old clothes and not do his hair.

Peter isn't there yet and Stiles takes a deep breath to calm himself.

By the time Peter does show up, he's engrossed in a video game with Scott, so that Stiles doesn't notice the older man right away.

None of the wolves miss the skip-hop of his heart when he looks up to find Peter's eyes on him.

Scott looks concerned, as if Stiles might be having a heart attack right in front of him. Derek follows Stiles' gaze to his uncle, and then glowers darkly at the human.

Stiles doesn't notice because he's trapped in Peter's gaze like a fly in amber.

The older man hesitates a second, and then spreads his arms slightly, turning them palm up. It's a subtle gesture, that _could_ mean 'what?' but Stiles can also read the invitation in his eyes.

It takes him three heartbeats to decide, and then he pushes up, honey gaze focused on Peter as he goes right to him, and slides into those welcoming arms.

Stiles is the teeniest bit taller than Peter, but he curls himself into the older man, nuzzles into his neck as the arms wrap around him tightly, and for about thirty seconds, Stiles feels content and happy.

And then it goes to shit because this is his _life_.

 

Stiles feels himself being yanked backward by Scott, whose eyes are flashing his Alpha red, and he's got a death grip on Stiles.

Before Stiles can do anything, Scott's fucking sticking his nose in the human's neck, and sniffing him. Stiles flails, “Oh my God. What the _fuck_ , Scott,” and just notices Derek shoving his uncle through the back door out into the yard out of the corner of his eye, before the Alpha is claiming his attention again.

“I don't smell anything. Do you feel dizzy or confused?”

Stiles grabs the report he had been working on earlier and rolls it quickly, smacking Scott on the nose with it.

“Yeah, I'm _fucking_ confused. What the _hell_ are you doing?”

Scott looks hurt by the smack and wrinkles up his nose as the red fades from his eyes. “I'm trying to figure out what drugs he used.” He rubs his nose surreptitiously, as if he didn't collect life-threatening wounds on a daily basis, and the paper had actually hurt him.

“Drugs?” For a minute, Stiles is lost, but then it dawns on him and he starts laughing. “You think he _drugged_ me?”

“Well, yeah.” Scott is confused, and then his brows furrow. “You wouldn't do that if you weren't.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles can't stop laughing. “There's no drugs, Scott.”

Scott can hear the truth in his heart, and he can't smell anything that isn't 100% Stiles, and he's forced to face the possibility.

Stiles can see the moment it hits him, because he goes from concerned to disgusted, and Scott wrinkles up his nose like he smells something bad. He looks just like a puppy that's been smacked, and that sets Stiles off again.

“Oh, Jesus, Scott, your _face_.”

Stiles claps a hand on Scott's shoulder, and looks at him seriously. “It's mutual and consensual, dude.”

Scott looks like he's going to protest, but he sticks with the bro code and sighs.

“You might want to go outside and save your... _boyfriend_...from Derek.”

Stiles considered and then shrugged. “Nah. I gotta kick your ass in some old school Tekken.”

-

Stiles is up seven matches to five when Peter comes back in, Derek over his shoulders.

“Have fun, dear?”

Stiles turns around with a smirk, but it slowly fades as his eyes roam over Peter's skin.

Because Peter's completely lost his shirt, and his jeans are shredded, and there's a lot of skin to look at. Especially the way his muscles move beneath it as he hefts his heavier nephew, tossing him down onto the mattress in the corner.

Scott abandons the game to hover over Derek. “Is he okay?”

Peter sighs, inspecting his clothing. “He'll be fine, unlike these jeans.” His eyes lift to where Stiles is still staring. “You _could_ have come out and talked to him.”

“I could have,” Stiles grins, “but I was 85% sure you could handle it.”

Peter looks affronted. “Only 85%?”

Stiles takes a moment to look Peter up and down slowly. “You're not as young as you used to be.”

Peter lofts both brows and then his eyes narrow, laser focused on Stiles.

He stalks closer, and the _power_ in his stride, and the way he snicks out his claws as he advances really _shouldn't_ be working for Stiles.

Peter wraps one of those dangerous hands around Stiles' long neck, thumb caressing his adams apple, while he presses his cheek to Stiles', so that he can whisper in the boy's ear.

“If you are going to act like a brat, I'm going to take you over my knee and spank you.”

Stiles' knees give out and if Peter didn't already have a hand snaking around Stiles' waist, he would have hit the ground.

“Um.” He swallows hard and looks up into Peter's eyes, and the older man is just so damned smug, and Stiles wants to snark back but for some reason he can't _think_ right now.

“Uh. Yeah. That's a thing. We can. Yes. Do.”

Stiles' cheeks are flushed, and the amber eyes are glazed, and he's biting his lip nervously.

Peter has to step back before he throws Stiles down in the floor and takes him right there.

So he does, with a decisive nod. “Gather your things. I'm taking you home.”

He doesn't specify which home. Stiles doesn't ask.

He packs his things up while Peter walks over to where Scott is tucking a pillow under Derek's head.

“Why isn't he awake?” Scott's voice is worried.

“I poisoned him.” Peter's voice is calm, almost bored.

“WHAT.”

“It'll wear off in under three hours. He shouldn't be left alone though.”

Scott growls and flashes his Alpha eyes at Peter.

Who is completely unimpressed.

“That didn't work for me when you were my beta either. He'll be fine. And it kept him from killing me.”

“Again.” Stiles grins over Peter's shoulder.

Peter points to the door. “Go get in the car.”

Stiles saunters towards the exit after saying goodbye to Scott, who is looking forlorn over the unconscious Derek.

“Scott.” Peter says softly. “Are you okay with me and Stiles?”

Scott looks up at him, and then to Stiles, who had paused in the doorway to hear the answer.

“He's bad for you, Stiles.”

Peter looks to Stiles, who is shaking his head.

“You're wrong, Scott. I'm bad for _him_.”

After a moment, the Alpha nods.

-

Apparently Peter has an apartment too.

Stiles pokes around while the wolf takes a shower, making mental notes on several interesting tidbits of the older man's life.

Peter emerges from the bathroom fully dressed.

Stiles pouts.

“Aw, I wanted to see you in a towel.” The human affects a leer. “Or without one.”

Peter smirks. “You'll get your chance. In 37 days.”

“Really? You're worried about _that_?”

Stiles mocks Peter, but the wolf just comes close and presses a soft chaste kiss to Stiles' lips, before whispering against them.

“I'm going to be a perfect gentleman and wait.”

There was literally _nothing_ sexy about that concept and yet his heart skips at the thought that Peter Hale, who bends and breaks rules like _breathing_ , is being so _careful_ to do things right with him.

Stiles _almost_ doesn't mind the wait. Except he does.

“Well, if there's going to be no sexytimes, I'm leav-” And that's when Peter grabs him and pulls him close.

Peter kisses him thoroughly and expertly, and by the time the werewolf pulls back, Stiles is dizzy and clinging to him.

“There's a lot of other things we can do, Stiles.”

Before he knows it, Stiles finds himself across Peter's lap, face in the cushions of the couch and he squirms.

“Hey now, excuse me, but this is not what I signed up for.”

He squirms again, and then Peter's hand lands, and it's just enough to sting, and Stiles squeaks.

“Actually,” and Peter is smirking, he can tell, “You did. You _explicitly_ said, and I quote, ' That's a thing. We can. Yes. Do.' ”

His hand lands again, harder this time and Stiles flails. “I meant like the other kind, the naked sexy kind.”

The human tries to extricate himself, but Peter is not budging in the least. “This is punishment for mouthing off, Stiles.”

Stiles writhes as another couple blows lands, and half of him is documenting how the stings of previous slaps are melting into a not-unpleasant warmth. The other half is focused on getting him into more trouble apparently.

“You're just mad because I called you old.”

The next blow is hard, hard enough that Stiles jerks and gasps out in surprise.

“And you're trying to goad me into ripping your clothes off and fucking you right now.”

Stiles thinks it might be wiser to be silent on that point. He doesn't follow his own advice.

Peter must sense that he's about to mouth off again, because there's a sudden rain of blows, and Stiles is too busy trying to catch his breath.

By the time Peter lets him up, Stiles' eyes are watering a bit, and his lower lip is reddened from continuous biting at it.

Peter curls the human into his lap, and kisses his tears away. “Shh, that's my good boy. You took your punishment so well for me, baby. I'm so proud of you.”

And Stiles feel this _warmth_ rush through him, and he nuzzles his face into the crook of Peter's neck and mumbles, “Thanks, Daddy,” and he doesn't even _think_ about it because it feels just right at this moment, doesn't even notice what he's said.

Peter though, Peter notices. How quickly he slips into that headspace, and how near the end, Stiles was arching _into_ the blows.

He hadn't planned any of this, it had just naturally flowed, but now he's thinking, which is a bad idea, as his carefully constructed detachment flies out the window.

Stiles notices, of course he does, and that mind – and mouth – is off and running. He shifts himself, rubbing his bottom against Peter, and then licks a strip along the exposed neck.

Which makes Peter's situation 100 times worse because that's his weak spot right there.

“Mm,” Stiles says softly, voice _wrecked_ , “You liked that, didn't you?”

Peter's still trying to will himself to relax, but Stiles makes it worse (of course he does) by shifting himself so that he's straddling Peter's lap.

“You _like_ having me at your mercy, writhing under your hands.”

Stiles rocks his hips up, grinding himself against Peter, which wins him a groan, and two strong hands wrapping around him, thumbs digging into his hipbones.

With an effort of will, Peter holds Stiles' hips in place, lifting his chin to eye the boy.

“Nice try.” He manages a firm tone. “But we're playing by _my_ rules, Stiles.”

Stiles isn't intimidated in the least. Of course not. He just reaches back, and grabs the collar of his graphic tee, tugging it off in one motion.

And suddenly there's all that pale expanse of skin in front of him, and Peter closes his eyes.

“Christ, _Stiles_.”

Smirking, Stiles leans forward as much as he can with the iron grip at his hips, and bites down hard on Peter's neck.

The wolf's eyes fly open and they're glowing blue, and Stiles has exactly two seconds to feel very smug, before he's pinned on his back, wrists trapped above his head, and a very...angry? turned on? _something_...werewolf looming over him.

Stiles goes for broke, because he's _Stiles_ , and beams up at Peter, fluttering his lashes. “Hi there.”

Peter can't help it, he laughs, resting his forehead on Stiles' chest, voice muffled.

“You're going to be the death of me.”

“ _Technically_ , I already have been.”

Peter sighs against Stiles' chest, which has him squirming faintly. “I can see I'm going to need a ball gag.”

And before Stiles can give him any more sass, Peter latches onto the skin over the boy's collarbone, and sucks a mark into it.

Stiles arches his hips but he can't get any friction, and he whimpers softly.

But Peter has no mercy.

He holds Stiles down, and spends the next thirty minutes sucking several marks into Stiles chest and stomach, and one on his hip just above the waistband of his jeans that has the boy squirming wildly.

Stiles is breathing hard by the time Peter lets him up, and he is pliant when he is pulled back into the older man's lap.

“Hm, yes,” Peter says smugly. “I do like having you at my mercy.”

He wraps his hand around the back of Stiles' neck, while the boy snorts a laugh, and then Peter pulls him in, bringing Stiles lips to his own.

They kiss for a little while, long enough that Stiles starts rutting against Peter again, and then the wolf stands, still holding Stiles, and if that isn't the hottest thing that ever existed, Stiles doesn't know what is.

He takes Stiles into the bedroom, and tosses him onto the bed, and okay, _that's_ the hottest thing that ever existed.

Peter tears off his own shirt and crawls in over Stiles, pining the younger man down with his body and biting back a moan as those hands curls around him, splaying across his back.

Stiles marks him now, blunt nails tracing patterns that will fade, but Peter will remember them. That fucking mouth of his biting along Peter's neck, claiming bites, though he can't possibly know that.

Most importantly, though, is the mixing of their scents. That's his true reason for bringing the boy into the bedroom. He wants to sleep surrounded in Stiles tonight.

Because Peter is going to enjoy this while it lasts.

He's under no illusions that he's mate material or even long-term boyfriend material. There's too much history, insanity, and chaos between them. He knows Stiles will get it out of his system and move on.

Until then, well Peter doesn't deny himself these indulgences.

So, he rolls Stiles around in his sheets, soft kisses and tentative touches, letting Stiles explore him, though Peter is careful to keep their pants on, and no touching below the waist.

His insistence amuses Stiles, but he lets it go. For now.

Peter has a feeling the boy's going to get insistent soon.

-

Stiles is still thinking about how adorable it is that Peter insisted on walking him to the door, and also pretty sure its about time for a little self-love because seriously who knew Peter Hale was the biggest tease on the planet? And Stiles needs to relieve some pressure.

Which becomes less of a problem when he flicks on the light to his bedroom, and Scott is sleeping in his computer chair.

“Jesus, Scott!” Stiles falls back against the bookshelf, knocking things everywhere, heart going crazy.

Which wakes Scott up and he overbalances and falls out of the chair.

“Good job using those Alpha senses.”

Scott blinks a minute and then wrinkles up his nose. “I thought Peter was taking you home.”

Stiles sighs. “He did, Scott. To _his_ home.”

“Oh.” Scott is quiet a moment, watching Stiles putting the shelf to rights. “I want to talk about Derek.”

“He okay?”

“Yeah. Well, no. I mean, he woke up. We had a conversation.”

Stiles flops onto his bed and laces his long fingers behind his head. “Well, that's quite an accomplishment.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“ _What_ , dude? C'mon, trying to enjoy my afterglow here.”

“Gross.” Scott shakes his head. “Anyways, basically..um, Derek likes you.”

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, whatever bro.”

“Stiles, I'm serious.”

“Yep, that's your serious face. You know what; don't care. Derek has been nothing but dismissive, mean, and demanding the whole time I've known him.”

“I guess he sort of thought you guys had an understanding.” Scott kinda waves his hand, which doesn't explain anything.

“Understanding...?”

“Yeah, significant looks, non-verbal communication, risking lives for each other, that kind of thing.”

“He _told_ you all this?!” Stiles is floored.

“Well, you have to read between the lines with him.”

“Scott. Scotty. That could be _our_ relationship, too. Are you saying that you've been carrying a torch for me too?” He sits up fast. “You haven't had you? Because I _asked_ if you wanted to make out like a hundred years ago, and you totally missed your chance, dude.”

Scott rolls his eyes.

“Anyways, I guess he made this sort of mental claim on you, and then when Peter groped you, it set the wolf in him off.”

“You guys are so fucking weird. Also, Peter didn't grope me. He is being rather...recalcitrant on the topic actually.” Stiles sighs. “So what am I supposed to do about Derek?”

“Not much you can do. I mean, you don't like him do you?”

Stiles considers a moment. “Not that I haven't noticed that he's pretty. Well okay, Derek is really fucking hot, okay. But Scott, I don't like the way he makes me _feel_. With Peter, I feel _special_. He takes the time to really talk to me, and knows what my favorite coffee is, and he really _listens_ to me, you know?”

Scott is silent a moment. “That must be a really nice feeling.”

Stiles looks at him. “You okay, buddy?”

Scott smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “I'm fine.”

Stiles puts two and two together and comes up with a really cruel, vicious bitch of a four.

“Oh, Scotty. C'mere.” He tugs the Alpha into the bed with him and aggressively cuddles him until they fall asleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Okay, so here's the deal.”

Stiles is pacing back and forth across the living room.

The Sheriff leans back in his chair, mutes the football game, and turns his eyes on his son. He knows this kind of outburst.

“There's this guy, and I _think_ we went out on a date. But I'm kind of not sure about that. And then there was this time that we made out a little bit, but that doesn't _really_ count either. And he's older, and really smart, and sophisticated, and I want to take him out on an actual date, only I don't know what to do because there's _complications_.”

The Sheriff is silent, listening as Stiles rants, gesticulating wildly.

“Maybe it would be better if we just walk away before it turns into a _thing,_ and then we break up and we shatter to pieces. But then if I don't go for it, will I always regret it? Probably because it's me, and Dad I don't know what to _DO_.”

The Sheriff takes a long swallow of his beer, gathering his thoughts, but Stiles isn't done yet.

“And the complications. Well they're really... _complicated_. Like apparently someone else likes me, and ...a friend...likes _him_ and it's all so _stupid_.”

Stiles throws himself dramatically onto the couch.

The Sheriff sets down his beer.

“First. I love you no matter what you decide. That's the most important thing you need to know."

He makes sure that he gets eye contact with his son, hammers that point home.

"Second, communication is always key in a relationship. Any relationship."

He  jabs his finger in the general direction of Stiles' chest for this next one.

"Third, you had better use protection every single time, I do not care what excuses he comes up with."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Yeah, dad, I know."

"Fourth, don't ever base your decisions on all the ways that something could go wrong. Peter's come a long way since that whole Alpha mess and from what I've seen, he really seems to treasure you and that is _very_ rare, Stiles. Still, make sure you keep that wolfsbane mace at hand. Just in case.”

The Sheriff leans forward, and rests his elbows on his knees, looking intently at Stiles, whose eyes widen almost comically as he realizes what his dad has just said.

“Wait, how-?”

His dad snorts as he lifts his beer again.

“I'm the _Sheriff_ , Stiles. You think I don't notice when you get all dreamy-eyed over someone? Then Mrs. Murphy stopped me at the grocery store to tell me what a gentleman you were dating.” The Sheriff's eyebrows loft at that one, and Stiles flushes. “And then Melissa and I talk about Scott. It's obvious he's pining over someone. Which brings me to Derek. Who came to see me at the office.”

“He WHAT?!” Stiles almost leaps off the couch and starts pacing again.

“Yeah. He wanted me to forbid you from seeing Peter.”

Stiles half-turns and eyes his father curiously. “What did you say?”

“I told him that you and Peter had to make your own decisions. And that his uncle was treating you better than Derek ever did. How was the sushi, by the way?”

Stiles tilts his head. “I liked it. Mrs. Murphy?”

“Agent McCall.” The Sheriff makes a face of displeasure. “He seemed overly concerned that you went out of town with an older man. There were a lot of questions. I think he thinks you're some sort of criminal.” The Sheriff thinks a moment. “Not that it's too far off the mark.”

“Hey!” Stiles starts to protest but gets the _look_ , and subsides. “Okay, well I may have a _record_ , but-”

“ _Fifth_ ,” his dad interrupts, “we need to talk about Scott.”

Stiles sighs and shakes his head. “Yeah, we need to figure out - “

“Stiles,” his dad interrupts, again.

The amber eyes flick up.

“It's not your job to fix Scott's life.”

“Well, it's not exactly - “

“I'm serious, Stiles. You've been doing that since you were eight.”

“He pushed Jackson into the mud for me! That's _totally_ worth a lifetime of helping a friend out.”

The Sheriff snorts and shakes his head. “You gotta let him work this out on his own. Also,” he tips his beer back and finishes it off. “You need to talk to Derek.”

Stiles stiffens. “I don't have _anything_ to say to him.”

-

“We need to talk.”

Derek hunches his shoulders. Just faintly, but Stiles has been reading the wolf's body language for years. Derek knows he's in for a scolding but he thinks he did the right thing. Because he thinks he owns Stiles somehow, has some sort of claim.

“You're not allowed to make decisions for me.”

“Stiles.”

“No, you're _listening_ right now Derek.” Stiles points at his face. “You and I? Not going to happen. Do you know why, Derek? Because you make me feel like _shit_. And I get that maybe you don't know how to love very well, but you need to fix _yourself_ before you get fixated on someone else.”

He starts pacing back and forth. Derek is motionless, frozen, his eyes watching Stiles the only thing moving.

“I get that you're worried about me and Peter, but it's not your place to worry. And especially not your place to go talk to my fucking _Dad_ about it. Serious dick move, dude.”

Stiles stops and looks right at Derek.

“You're not my family. You're not my Alpha. You're not my boyfriend. You're not even my _friend_ , Derek. And if we go by the things _you've_ said in the past, you're not even my _Pack_!”

Silence settles over the room. Stiles waits to hear Derek explain how he was doing what he thought was best just like he always does.

Finally, Derek lifts his eyes up to look at Stiles. They're cold, hard, distant.

“You done?”

Amber eyes are narrowed. “One more thing. You hurt Scott, I will inject you with wolfsbane and leave you for dead.”

Finally, Derek reacts. Confusion and surprise chase each other across his features. “Hurt...Scott? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Derek Hale, you're an idiot.”

-

“Derek's an idiot.”

Peter steps back to let Stiles into his apartment.

“I'm aware.” His voice is soft and amused.

The smell of garlic, and the sound of cellos waft out of the apartment, as he closes the door behind Stiles.

“Ooh, what's for dinner?”

Stiles follows his nose to the kitchen where there's a single fish fillet sizzling on the stove.

“Ew. Got anything good?” He proceeds to start poking through the fridge and cupboards.

Peter has a moment of self-reflection considering just why he loves this boy.

“What did Derek do this time?”

Stiles stands up ramrod straight, amber eyes flashing with fire, and _Oh yes that's why_.

“He went to my _dad_.”

_You're absolutely gorgeous when you're angry._

“About?” Peter turns to the stove and flips his fish, sprinkling some parsley over it.

“You and me.”

Peter closes his eyes. “How did that go?”

He waits for Stiles to tell him they're done, that his father has forbid them to see each other, is already conjouring up scenarios where they can go to Vegas and get married...

“He told Derek that you treat me better than he ever did.”

Peter can't process for a second, then he smirks slowly and chuckles. “Interesting. I imagine my nephew didn't react well.”

Stiles hops up on the kitchen island, munching on a bag of chips that Peter may or may not have gotten solely because they're Stiles' favorite.

“Dad didn't say.”

Peter hums noncommittally and sets the fish on the back burner, reaching for the rice next.

Silence falls, broken only by the noise of Peter's dinner cooking.

“Sooooo I went to see Derek.”

Peter stills again. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I yelled at him a lot. And then I told him to be good to Scott.”

Peter breathes again.

“Scott?”

“What, you too? How could you not notice?!”

“Scott. And...Derek?”

Peter turns around, and Stiles is licking seasoning from his fingers, and Peter's mind stutters to a halt as he watches those lips wraps around the digits, that tongue slide along them, and he is in _serious_ need of adjustment downstairs. He can't look away.

It takes Stiles approximately six seconds to notice, and his eyes light up with mischief. Somehow he manages to make it worse, keeping eye contact and making it even _filthier._

Peter doesn't even know that he's moving, but suddenly he's pulling Stiles forward into him, and claiming that mouth, and he tastes artificial flavoring but it doesn't matter because it's _Stiles_.

Stiles arms are wrapped around his neck, and those long legs are around his waist, and Peter scoops up the boy, holding him up with one arm while reaching behind him to shut the rice off.

They go down the hallway like that, and into the bedroom, and it's not until he feels Stiles hands at his belt that Peter comes to himself, curling a hand around each of Stiles' wrists and halting his motions.

“You little shit.”

Stiles smirks, unrepentant, and wriggles enticingly beneath him.

Peter doesn't even remember losing his shirt. “I'm going to have to lock you out of my house.”

“You can try.”

Stiles bares his neck, and rolls his hips up into Peter, and the wolf just _has_ to mark that neck, and then he growls again into Stiles neck after he does so.

“Dammit, Stiles. I'm trying to do this right.”

“It's just a few days, what does it matter?”

Peter lifts his eyes up a moment. “It matters.”

_It matters because I'm in love with you and you are going to leave me for someone who truly deserves you._

He's not going to explain himself because that leaves him too emotionally vulnerable, and he needs to build his walls for when Stiles goes.

“Now, unless you want to be tied down... _alone_ ,” he adds hastily as the boy's eyes light up a moment, “you'll let me go finish my dinner, and then I'll take you out for ice cream.”

“I'm not a five year old!” Stiles pouts.

Peter climbs off of him, and then looks back over his shoulder. “So you don't want ice cream?”

Stiles stretches and Peter looks away because _all that skin_ , but has to chuckle at the response.

“Of _course_ I want ice cream.”

-

Peter gets vanilla, which Stiles thinks is hilarious, and keeps ribbing him over it, as he eats his ridiculous concoction of flavors and additions.

“Stiles Stilinski...”

The voice immediately sets Peter on edge, and he's a heartbeat away from wolfing out and slashing the throat of anyone who _dares_ talk to his mate like that, and then he drops immediately from that high because oh fuck _his mate_.

Stiles's face looks pinched and Peter reaches out and twines his fingers with the human's before turning his attention to the speaker.

“Agent Asshole.” Stiles wrinkles up his nose. “Peter, this is Scott's dad.”

Peter looks over him slowly, up and down. Then he meets Rafael McCall's eyes.

_This man is dangerous._

“Such a _mouth_ on you, Stiles.” The eyes don't look away from Peter's, and he understands now.

Peter rises, extending his hand. “Agent McCall. I've heard so much about you.”

McCall slides his hand into Peter's and shakes it. “Peter Hale. Same.”

_Very dangerous._

Stiles is oblivious, of course he is, he's all mouth and bravado and absolutely no self-preservation.

This is a face-off between two predators, and Stiles is the prey.

“Enjoying the ice cream?” Peter's words are pleasant and cordial. His eyes say, _Back the fuck off or you're a dead man_.

He reaches over casually and wraps his hand around the back of Stiles' neck, thumb rubbing over the mark he had made earlier. He is gratified that Stiles leans into the touch, calming somewhat, though he still glares at the federal agent.

“Best place in town.” McCall nods cheerfully and lets the handshake go. He sees the challenge in Peter's eyes and his own make a promise. _You won't live to regret that._

“Good, good. Well it was nice to meet you.” _Get out of my sight._

“You too, Hale. Stiles.” _I will be coming for what's mine._

Peter watches him go, then turns to Stiles who is looking at him curiously. “You were way too nice to him. He's a dick.” Then those amber eyes get wide. “You think he's _hot_ , don't you?”

Peter snorts. “Stiles, I have no romantic designs on that man. You're the only one I want to be with.”

Stiles isn't jealous, he's _insecure_ , and Peter spends the rest of the evening reassuring him just how attractive he finds the human.

While keeping to his self-imposed limits, of course.

Because he loves Stiles with an intensity that he's not prepared to deal with yet, much less consider that errant _mate_ thought that had snuck up on earlier, and he wants everything to be right.

No regrets.

Peter has enough of those.

He wants Stiles to look back on them together someday when he's older, after Peter is only a memory, and smile, and think: _“He really loved me.”_

-

McCall corners him at the Farmer's Market.

“Little old for Stiles, aren't you?”

Peter looks around to make sure no one's looking, then he lets his eyes flash blue and his claws go long and he growls low.

McCall laughs. “You think I'm scared of a _beta_?”

Peter, shocked, drops immediately back to human and reevaluates everything. “What do you want?” _What are you?_

Rafael leans casually against a brick wall. “You know what I want.” _Good luck figuring that out._

Peter lifts his chin. “Not going to happen.” _I will figure it out and end you._

McCall hesitates a moment. “I'm willing to discuss a time-share.” _Truce?_

Peter's mind gives him a few _glorious_ images of the both of them having Stiles, and if it were _any_ other person that he was involved with, the werewolf would have jumped on that chance.

Regretfully, he shakes his head. “That isn't going to happen.” _You can't have what's mine._

Rafael McCall nods, straightens from the wall. “I'm very sorry to hear that.” _He won't be yours for long._

Peter watches him walk away again. He needs to do something about McCall, and fast.

-

He starts with Scott.

“My dad?” Scott is incredulous. “No way, dude.”

“He's _something_ , Scott, and you're the Alpha. He's threatened two members of your pack now.”

“I'll talk to him.” Scott doesn't believe.

Next, Peter goes to Deaton. That conversation goes just as well.

“I keep the balance. He's done nothing.”

He should have known.

“But if he does...”

“If he does, I support the Hales, as always.”

Peter's sympathy must show through because Deaton turns on his heel and leaves.

_He'll never stop mourning Talia._

Derek is his next stop.

He hits first and asks questions later. Apparently, Derek's still a bit irked by the whole Stiles thing.

Peter leaves there bloodied and limping but at least Derek is willing to fight if needed.

Final stop, the Stilinski's.

“Peter?”

“Sheriff. May I come in?”

“Derek-”

“I'm not here to talk to you about Stiles.”

The Sheriff nods and steps back.

“Beer?”

“Thanks.”

He hands the bottle to Peter, cap on. Peter appreciates the paranoia indulgence.

“Agent McCall.”

The Sheriff's eyes narrow. “Go on.”

“He's after Stiles.” Peter takes a sip of the beer and thinks how best to word it.

“I think he's something supernatural. I'm not sure what. I'm only sure that he's directly challenged me for Stiles twice now. Once calling me out as a wolf.”

The Sheriff is silent a moment. “What do we do?”

Peter looks him in the eye. “Since I'm going to go out on a limb and assume you wouldn't be okay with a preemptive throat slashing, the only thing we can do is watch him and wait. _And don't let him near Stiles_.”

“Don't let who near me?”

Peter closes his eyes. He'd been hoping to get out of there before Stiles came home.

Plan B.

“McCall. He threatened me today.”

Stiles arches a brow. “The big, bad wolf is afraid of the Feds?”

Peter _absolutely does not_ have a physical reaction to Stiles calling him that. He shifts position casually and stares down his ... _mate_... boyfriend? his Stiles anyways.

“He's not human.”

Stiles snorts. “I fucking knew that. That dick-”

“No, Stiles. _He's not human_.”

Silence.

“Son of a mother fucking bitch-”

“Language.” The Sheriff eyes his son, who has the grace to flush sheepishly.

“So, everyone's been notified. Now we just have to see what he does next.”

-

They don't have to wait long.

Peter is driving out to the Preserve when his car is rammed off the road.

Rafael McCall pulls him free of the wreckage before he's quite processed what's happening.

As soon as he does, Peter wolfs out, attacking immediately. He knows what this is.

The other man shifts into something that Peter has never seen before in his life, but it's an Alpha of whatever it is, and it's vicious.

He's all black fur and vicious claws, and he's cutting Peter up. The wolf can't seem to even _pierce_ McCall's skin with his claws, much less rip the other man open like he wants to. He has to protect his mate

Every time he thinks he has a handhold, some purchase, this _thing_ twists and evades, and Peter is going to _lose_.

McCall beats the shit out of the werewolf.

And is only halted from the final killing blow by the appearance of his son.

Alpha werewolf vs. alpha unknown.

Only McCall steps down. He fades back into human. Well, mostly human.  Peter watches the man lick the wolf's blood from his claws.

“I'm not going to fight you, Scott.” And there's a complete lack of surprise in his voice. _That bastard knew about Scott._

“This is wolf territory and I don't want it. I don't even want to kill your beta. He just put his hands on something that's mine.”

“I don't belong to you, dickbag.”

_He can't be here right now._

“Stiles,” he manages to croak out. McCall kicks him hard in the side, and Peter's vision hazes out with the pain.

“Do that again, and I will cut your fucking foot off and feed it to you.” Stiles is _magnificent_ when he's angry, and both men admire him.

“I am going to enjoy using that smart mouth of yours.”

Scott snarls and advances forward.

Instead of saying anything, Stiles begins chanting.

Peter watches with blurred vision as white swirls surround McCall, as he shifts and starts attacking his son.

_Blink._

He sees claws swipe across Scott's chest.

_Blink._

Stiles is playing with lightning.

_Blink._

Derek is growling from somewhere.

_Blink._

Someone is screaming.

_Blink._

_Blink._

Darkness.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for Anda. (Also, my apologies to John Green.)
> 
> One non-con kiss, just wanted to warn if you're triggered by that kind of thing.

Stiles and Scott are arguing.

Stiles thinks that he's the only one who can get what they need. Scott insists on doing it because he doesn't want Stiles put in danger.

Derek's with Stiles. And they know Peter would vote against Stiles going anywhere near Agent McCall.

They're going round and round, and it's a measure of how upset Scott is that he actually tries to Alpha Stiles.

Which has the effect opposite of the one desired.

Stiles purses his lips,  rolls his eyes, turns on his heel and leaves.

Scott slowly changes back to human, sighs, and looks at Derek.

The older man reaches out and sets his hand on Scott's shoulder.

He does this sometimes, it's a thing with Derek. He's amazingly tactile if you can see it behind the layers and layer of not letting the world in.  Scott sees it.

What's new is the way Derek is staring down into Scott's eyes, as if he's asking something.

Scott feels frozen, he doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know how to answer that unasked question. But he doesn't look away.

That moment stretches on way too long, and then something changes in Derek's eyes, and they flick away, down to the ground.

Scott can breathe again.

Derek starts to lift his hand, to pull away, to coil back into himself and Scott can't let him. He puts his hand on top of Derek's.

“Scott?”

He looks into those green eyes again, lifts his hand from where it sits on top of Derek's, and reaches out.

Scott is slow and careful, just the way he moves with the timid creatures at the vet's office. He gently cups the side of Derek's face, runs a thumb slowly over his cheek bone.

Derek closes his eyes.

Scott is just about to pull his hand away when Derek leans slightly into his touch.

It's a tiny movement but _it's definitely there_ , and Scott feels his heart stop again.

“Derek...”

It's soft and gentle, but it carries the hope that he's been clinging to these past few months.

Derek's eyes open, and his hand slides to curl around the back of Scott's neck.

Scott steps forward, eliminating the space between them, still cautious and deliberate, and lifts his chin.

And stops there because it _has_ to be Derek, he has to _choose_ this, not let it happen to him. Scott's not sure why this is so important, he just knows that it is.

Soft, warm brown eyes watch and wait, and the sheer _depth_ of that regard has Derek feeling so overwhelmed, because he knows he doesn't deserve it.

Scott shifts like he's going to move away, and suddenly Derek's more scared of losing this chance then he is of anything else. He reaches out with his free hand, sliding it around Scott's waist, as he lowers his lips onto the younger man's.

He's tentative, he doesn't know how to _do this_ , because Derek Hale has only kissed two people in his _life._

So it's just a soft brush of lips, and then he's pulling back, because he's suddenly very self-conscious and worried, and Derek opens eyes he didn't even know he'd closed to see Scott smiling up at him.

It's so warm and full of sunshine, and he can't help but smile a bit in return.

“I've always liked your smile.”

And Derek hadn't even know he was going to say that, and then he flushes because that was really stupid and lame.

But Scott smiles even wider.

“You're a really good person, Derek.”

Which makes the older man flush even more because people call him lots of things, but good is _never_ one of them, and he shakes his head slightly in automatic negation.

Scott captures his face in both hands, and forces Derek to look into his eyes.

“You _are_. And you're smart. And brave. And loyal.”

These are not things that Derek hears.

Derek hears that he is scary, cold, mean, grumpy, sour. And he is those things, those are truths.

If he gets compliments, they're about his body, as if he had any control over werewolf physiology. His body has been used against him often enough that he hates it.

But he can hear Scott's heartbeat and he knows that Scott _believes_ what he's saying.

He believes in Derek.

Nobody ever believes in Derek.

He's still turning over this revelation in his mind, when Scott pushes up on his toes and kisses him.

Scott is not hesitant, he's certain, and he kisses with determination. He's trying to show Derek, to prove that he means what he says.

Derek feels something inside his soul relax, untwist. Something that has been damaged, broken, starts to heal.

He kisses Scott back, opening himself up with hope.

He's flushed with warmth, and Derek is so into the kiss, tongue sliding against the shorter man's, that it's almost as if he can _feel_ the depth of Scott's affection wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

Scott slowly pulls away, and the green eyes flutter open to look at him.

“I could kiss you all day.”

Derek flushes again, because people want to _fuck_ him, they don't want to spend all day cuddling.

“Um. Yes. We could do that. If you want.”

He's usually more suave than this when flirting. He knows all the lines and everything.

“That wouldn't be fair to you though, Derek. You deserve dates and flowers.”

Derek blinks. “Flowers?”

It's Scott's turn to blush. “Well, presents anyways.”

Derek thinks a moment. “I've never been on a date. Not a real one.”

Scott nods softly, brown eyes just a little bit sad. “I kinda thought so.”

He tilts his head a moment. “When you feel like talking about it, I think you need to tell me about them.”

Derek stiffens, and Scott rubs the back of the older man's neck soothingly. “When you're ready. I just need to know.”

Derek thinks about it, thinks that maybe Scott won't judge him, won't hate him for what he's done. _Maybe_.

“Maybe.”

Scott nods softly. He'll take a maybe.

Derek hesitates a moment.

“Have you ever.. With a guy...?”

Scott grins a bit, and bites down on his lower lip, then nods.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Derek feels better for some reason. “Um. What now?”

Scott considers. “I'm going to steal another kiss, then we're going to go make sure Stiles is okay.”

Derek licks his lower lip to try and hide a smile, then pretends he's thinking it over. “Hm. I'm not sure...”

Scott arches a brow, and fists Derek's shirt, and pulls him close.

“I am.”

It's almost a growl, and Derek's heart skips a beat, and then Scott is kissing him, and it's demanding and possessive and _so fucking hot,_ and when Scott finally pulls away with a smirk, Derek feels like his knees are going to give out.

And then his Alpha flashes a playful grin and says, “Race ya” and takes off running.

“Fuck.”

Derek catches his breath, and then chases Scott.

-

Stiles is a good liar.

He's gotten even better since having to learn to lie to werewolves. Obfuscate, mislead, overwhelm, believe what you're saying, and, most importantly, tell as much of the truth as you can.

He's like 70% sure he can handle this. He's completely sure that Scott can't. Scott couldn't lie to anyone to save his life.  Stiles knows this because their lives have been on the line for just that reason before.

It has to be _him_ , and so he's here, knocking on Rafael McCall's door, rehearsing his plan, what he needs to say, what he needs to do.

McCall comes to the door in sleep pants and mussed hair and nothing else, and if there weren't a thousand reasons why it would be completely and totally wrong, Stiles might have considered jumping him right then.

Okay so he kind of considered it because _fuck_ dude, for all his faults, Scott's dad is _hot_. Which is such a _badwrong_ thing to think, but then again Stiles already knows he's a horrible person. But anyways - on a mission.

“Stiles..” Agent Creepasaurus is surprised, good. He recovers quickly, then looks over Stiles slowly.

“Eyes up here, buddy.”

McCall steps back, gestures. “Will you walk into my parlour...?”

“You are just going right along the checklist for creepy, evil villain, aren't you?”

Stiles goes in, swallowing hard as he hears the locks click behind him.

McCall is leaning his tall, muscular body against the doorway. He crosses his arms and looks at Stiles. “To what do I owe the honour?”

Stiles does not take a moment to ogle those biceps. Nope. He's just...assessing threat. There's a lot of threat.

“I want to make a deal.”

Rafael doesn't move, but he seems more attentive, less leer-y.

“I want you to leave Peter alone.”

McCall considers. “And?”

Stiles lifts his chin. _Believe it, feel the sadness, know you're going to do this._

“And I'll leave him alone.” _For a few days._

Rafael's eyebrows arch. “You know I can hear a lie.”

Stiles nods. “Peter told me.”

The older man saunters forward. “Did he tell you that I offered to share?”

Stiles' heart skips a beat, and the _images_ flooding his mind... “Jesus _fuck_ ,” he whispers.

Rafael laughs. “Your wolf didn't like the idea as much as you do.”

Stiles looks up, and McCall is too close, crowds him against the wall before he can think to move.

“Do we have a deal?” Stiles is trying to be firm, but McCall's hands are sliding into his shirt...

“Hey, mitts off the merchandise!” He grabs a handful of the Agent's hair and tugs.

Which earns him a snarl, but the hands pull back.

“You let Peter live, I leave with you.” _The terms of the deal, no lie here._

McCall hums and then nods. “I suppose I can allow that indulgence for my new mate.” His voice lowers. “Where I come from, we seal deals like this with a kiss.”

He doesn't wait for permission, just surges forward and covers Stiles' mouth with his, and its hot and filthy and so maybe Stiles has a thing for being pinned by hot, older men, because he reacts a little bit, _okay a_ _lot_. Hey no kink-shaming allowed. 

Still, Stiles has his pride, so he claws Rafael's pretty face all up until he backs off, narrowing his eyes as they heal immediately.

“I could take you right here, right now. Mark up that pretty skin, make you mine.” The older man leans in again. “You _belong_ to me, Stiles.”

And that, _that_ threw ice cold water down Stiles' spine. Because he could see how fast this thing could go all Stockholm Syndrome.

“No, I don't.”

“You will.” Rafael lunges forward again, and then his eyes go wide, and he turns his gaze down to where Stiles is holding the hilt of a knife that's buried deep in his abdomen.

“That won't kill me, Stiles, you have to know that.”

“It will weaken you long enough for me to get away.” He shoves the older man, who stumbles backward a step, blood still spurting from his wound.

“Oh, by the way, deal's off.”

-

Scott and Derek catch up to him at Deaton's.

“Doc's looking at the samples I brought him.”

Scott wrinkles up his nose.

“Ew, dude, no. Hair, skin, blood.”

The veterinarian comes into the room where they're all waiting.

“The results are somewhat...disquieting.”

“What's up, doc?” Stiles snickers at himself.

Deaton levels a gaze on Stiles that would be considered mild on anyone else. Stiles shuts up.

“Honey Badger.”

“Hon- What?” Scott lofts his brows and laughs. “Aw, that sounds so cute and cuddly.”

Stiles holds up his phone in Scott's face.

[John Green narrates.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9Jr9JKpsX8)

“...eat anything and lead these solitary non-monogamous lives of total badassery...”

“...no predator would ever want to attack a honey badger...”

“...harder to kill than 19th century russian monks...”

Derek snorts a laugh. Stiles and Scott stare at him. He glowers at them. They turn back to the video.

“...whenever you grab or bite them, there's always room for them to come around and bite you back...”

“...resistant to arrows...super skin...can stop some bullets...”

“Dude.” Scott is wide eyed.

“Yeah.” So is Stiles.

Derek gets straight to the point.

“How do we kill it?”

-

They're still going over the plan when Stiles' phone gives off this obnoxious red alert klaxon and he swears and grabs it, hurriedly flicking through the lock screen.

“Shit, shit. Son of a bitch.”

“Stiles?” Scott is alarmed.

“Peter's car has been damaged.”

“How...?” Derek is staring at him.

“I linked the GPS in his phone to the car's On Star system and then Danny set me up with an algorithm.. you know what, nevermind. Trust me, it works.”

Scott is looking at him suspiciously.

“Okay _yes_ so I linked up all of your GPS'. I need to keep track of you all _okay_?”

“That's how you always know where to show up.” Derek mutters.

“Yes yes yes, we can all bitch about Stiles later. Right now, Peter's _in trouble_.”

-

The wolves take off running, and Stiles hops in Betty. He pulls up to the wreck just as Lydia does. She looks at him and then slowly lets her head fall to her steering wheel.

He decides to leave her be.

Scott's facing off with his dad, and Stiles gets there in time to hear Agent Jerkoff say something about Peter touching what's his.

“I don't belong to you, dickbag.”

McCall looks Stiles up and down possessively and smirks. Scott snarls, Alpha eyes gleaming red at his father. Whose red eyes glow right back.

Stiles is focused on Peter. Is he dead? Is that why Lydia's here? He's trying to not panic when the lump of bloody flesh moves. Stiles thinks he hears his name, and he's so flooded with relief that he almost bursts into tears.

And then McCall kicks him and Stiles feels such rage that he feels like he's going to explode with it.

“Do that again, and I will cut your fucking foot off and feed it to you.”

Rafael's eyes turn to Stiles and he winks, _fucking winks_.

“I am going to enjoy using that smart mouth of yours.”

Scott throws himself at his father and Stiles pulls out the spell that Deaton had written down for him. He starts chanting the words while building a tiny little fire in front of him. He pulls out a vial and sprinkles it over the fire, still chanting.

Scott and his father fight on. Derek twitches restlessly in front of Stiles. He wants to protect Scott but he's been ordered to keep anything from interfering with Stiles.

There's white fog or smoke or something, and Stiles hopes that its the spell and not some new crazy supernatural shit that Agent Douchcanoe has up his ass.

Derek is as tense as Stiles has ever seen him as the human finishes the spell and lights the paper on fire.

“Is that it?”

“Yeah.” Stiles feels oddly tired.

Derek rushes to help Scott, and gets there just in time to catch his Alpha as he falls, throat severed by vicious sharp, claws.

“Scott!” Derek's voice is panicked as the soft, brown eyes look into his and then close.

He turns to see McCall stalking towards Stiles, neither Peter or Scott are moving, and he's just about ready to throw himself at the man, when he halts and stares.

Stiles' hands are extended and there's white arcs of electricity surrounding him.

“Stiles,” Agent McCall says softly, “I'll take good care of you. You'll be happy with me. Just put your hands down, baby.”

Stiles opens his eyes and they're solid white, and Derek's hackles are up, and he can't help growling because he doesn't know what the _fuck is going on_.

Stiles tilts his head slightly, extends his hands, and the power arcs away from him and into McCall. He jerks in place, and his black fur and red eyes fade away until he's human once more, and still the lightning shoots into him.

The smell of charred meat fills the air.

Lydia starts to scream.

-

“It's not supposed to be like this.” Stiles brushes his hand through Peter's hair.

“You're supposed to be baking me some sort of ridiculously intricate cake, and making comments about fucking me into the mattress later...”

“Things I didn't need to hear.”

Stiles turns away from the hospital bed.

“Hey dad.”

“Y'know, I'm paying for that room that you're not using.”

Stiles tucks his hospital gown tighter around himself.

“Deaton said it might help to have me near him.”

“He'll heal, son.”

The Sheriff rubs at his burning eyes. Must be something he's allergic to around here.

“So. Your room. Full of people with presents.”

Stiles nods and rises, leans to press a kiss to Peter's forehead, whispers into his ear.

“I love you.”

Melissa scolds him the second he gets back, for wandering off without permission.

“Get us a room together and I will stay there.”

“Stiles, you're going to be released tomorrow. There's no way I could put someone with exhaustion in with a coma patient.”

He rolls his eyes and settles into the chair because Derek is curled up around Scott in Stiles' hospital bed and _when did they get so snuggly_?

Lydia is taking pictures of them without them noticing, and Stiles thinks of Erica. Which leads to Boyd. And Isaac. And Allison.

Stiles closes his eyes a moment.

“Stiles?”

“I'm fine dad. Just not fully recovered yet.”

“Deaton has been very concerned about you. He says you need to see him the second you get out of here.” Scott's worried now.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've got bigger priorities.”

Derek and Scott suddenly sit up in sync.

Stiles has two heartbeats of complete panic.

Scott smiles. “It's okay, Stiles, he's okay.”

Derek looks to Stiles. “His heartbeat just spiked. I think he might wake up.”

Stiles insists that they move the whole party into Peter's room.

It's another hour before Derek's prediction comes true and Peter's eyes flutter open.

“Stiles.” His voice is hoarse.

“You almost missed my birthday, asshole.”

“...fashionably late.”

Stiles rests his forehead on Peter, and the wolf can feel the wetness from his tears.

“Can you not do that to me ever again?”

“..exactly fun for me.”

He looks at Stiles intently.

“McCall?”

“Dead.”

The wolf closes his eyes.

Peter lays there quietly as Stiles opens cards and gifts, just taking the time to categorize his injuries and take stock of his situation.

Everyone drifts off one by one, well two by two in Scott and Derek's case, and when did _that_ happen?

Finally it's just the two of them eating lemon jello in matching hospital gowns.

“Worst fourth date ever.”

-

It's two days after Peter is finally free of the hospital. He's cooking dinner when he hears a familiar Jeep, and then heartbea,t coming close.

He opens the door to see Stiles coming up the stairs, a duffel over his shoulder, and a suitcase in his hand.

“Stiles..?”

Stiles leans in, kisses him quick, then brushes past him, dropping the bags on the floor of the hallway and wanders into the kitchen.

“I'm moving in, what's for dinner?”

Peter blinks, and then turns on his heel.

“You're. Moving in?”

“No, I always show up at random people's places with all my clothes in a suitcase.”

Stiles is going through his cupboards again, obviously eschewing the beef stroganoff.

He finds some crackers and starts dipping them in a jar of peanut butter.

“You should order a pizza.”

Peter crosses his arms and arches a brow. “And why should I do that?”

Stiles looks into his eyes, scoops up some peanut butter on his finger and proceeds to take two very long minutes to lick it all off.

Peter orders pizza.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Hours later, the pizza is gone and they've watched a couple movies and Peter's eying the dishes still sitting on the coffee table, when suddenly he has a lapful of Stiles.

Peter arches a brow and looks up at the human.

“So..” Stiles begins, and Peter wants to roll his eyes preemptively. “You've kept your stupid promise or whatever, and _yes_ it was really stupid because either one of us could have gotten killed, and then where would we be I ask you. We'd be fucked. Or _not fucked_ as the case may be. Which it is. So you should.”

It takes Peter a second to walk himself through that statement and then he nods. “Okay.”

Stiles blinks, mouth open already on his next set of arguments and then it snaps shut with an audible click and he dives down, mashing his lips into Peter's.

Peter kisses him like this for a minute, unable to keep from reacting to this greedy wantonness, but then slowly forces Stiles back, just enough that he can speak.

“However.”

Stiles actually pouts at that, and Peter has to take another second to suckle on that lower lip.

“However. We're going to do it my way.”

“Please tell me that there's not some weird werewolfy mantra you have to chant or anything because I can get off to a lot of really off the wall stuff but seriously, ritualized sex, no.”

Peter gets lost for a moment thinking about “off the wall stuff” and the kinds of things _that_ could be referring to.

Stiles takes advantage of Peter's distraction to lean forward and lick his neck, just like he remembers from that one time, and yes Peter's arching into it, and the boy feels smug for all of about three seconds.

Then he's hoisted up and _fuck that's hot_ , and being carried out of the living room. He wraps his legs around Peter and starts nipping at the wolf's neck.

Peter growls low in his throat, and Stiles rolls his hips against the older man because he's already hard from being manhandled, and why is the growling _so damned sexy_?

Stiles finds himself pressed up against a wall tightly, and his mind flashes back to when McCall had done the same thing. He's only there for a second, but Peter notices and pulls back immediately, looking at Stiles in concern.

Stiles sighs.

“There's a _thing_ we should talk about.”

-

Scott shows up on Derek's doorstep with homemade lasagna, a storebought salad, and a stack of movies.

When Derek doesn't answer on the first buzz, Scott realizes that maybe he should have called.

He waits a few moments, then buzzes again.

Still no answer.

Scott is halfway to his car when the door opens and _Derek is in a fucking towel_ and Scott drops the movies.

“Um, hey.” Scott offers a smile. “I brought dinner.”

Derek turns around and goes back in the building.

Scott furrows a brow, and starts picking up the movies, thinking maybe he should just go home, when Derek pops back out completely clothed.

He pads in his bare feet to Scott and takes the food while Scott grabs all the movies.

“So I kinda should have called, sorry.”

Derek flashes a smile. “No, it's fine, it's good.”

Scott leans a little closer, transfixed by that smile, and it seems like Derek is going to lean back into him, but he suddenly jerks back and looks around, and if the Alpha didn't know better, he'd say it was nervously.

“Let's go inside.”

-

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

Stiles sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Peter is sitting on the edge of his bed while Stiles paces in front of him.

“Yeah well it seemed like a good idea at the time. Actually it seemed like the only idea. I mean, if we had known that I could just _fry_ the fucker, then we would have done that. Obviously. We had to know what he was and the only way was to get his dna, so the doc could test it.”

“And letting him kiss you was part of your elaborate ruse.”

Stiles winces a bit at the biting sarcasm. “It was _not_ supposed to go down that way.”

Peter gets up and walks towards Stiles. “And what if you had to let it go further to get your information?”

Now _he's_ crowding Stiles into the bedroom wall.

Peter leans in and speaks into the boy's ear, low and dangerous. “How far were you willing to go, Stiles?”

Stiles swallows hard but looks Peter dead in the eye as he pulls back.

“As far as it took.”

Peter snarls, flicks out his claws, hooks them in the collar of Stiles' tee and fucking _shreds_ it. Stiles' eyes darken and he bites back a gasp as the older man tears the remains of his shirt away.

The wolf's eyes flick over the lean torso, free hand reaching to curl around the revealed hip, thumb pressing cruelly into pale skin, and there's going to be a bruise there tomorrow for sure.

Stiles doesn't waste more than a second noticing it because Peter's mouth is attacking his collarbone, and Stiles' back hits the wall, werewolf strength applied to hold him immobile.

The older man pulls back after a moment, and Stiles is already half-hard just from that, and then Peter runs a thumb over his nipple and his gasp is loud in the quiet room.

Peter chuckles darkly, but doesn't utter whatever comment is percolating in his mind. Instead, he finds Stiles' lips again, pressing his body up against the younger man's, and invading that sweet mouth with his tongue.

He takes his time, kisses Stiles so thoroughly that when he pulls away, the soft pink lips are kiss-swollen and red, and the amber eyes are dilated and dazed. Peter slides his hand down to palm the obvious bulge at Stiles crotch, and smirks.

“You belong to me.”

It's whispered against his lips, but Stiles hears every word. “Mine, Stiles. No one gets to kiss you like that except me. And I'm going to mark you up so that everyone knows it.”

And there's something _seriously_ wrong with Stiles, because that is somehow so _fucking_ hot that he starts leaking, and Peter's nostrils flare as the new scent blooms.

Peter is as good as his word, and spends the next half hour holding Stiles against the wall, and sucking marks into the pale skin.

-

Derek seems to relax once they're inside, and he even leans into Scott while they're having dinner and watching their movie.

Scott settles an arm around Derek's shoulder and kisses the top of his head absently, and then when Derek turns his face, lifts his chin to say something, Scott steals a soft quick kiss.

Derek blinks and then pulls away, pulls so far away that he gets up off the couch, and takes the dishes into the tiny kitchen, and fills the sink like he's going to wash dishes.

Scott knows avoidance when he sees it, and so he gets up and sits himself down at the tiny kitchen table and watches Derek.

“I can't do this,” Derek suddenly blurts out into the silence.

“What? The dishes?”

Derek huffs and laugh and shakes his head, still not looking at Scott.

“No. _This_. Us. You and I.”

“You've been doing fine so far.” Scott wills Derek to look at him.

Apparently, he's not a telepath because Derek still keeps looking into the sink.

“Scott, I don't know what to do.”

Scott gets up and slides his arms around Derek, presses his right cheek over where the taller man's spiral tattoo is hidden beneath his shirt.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don't know.”

They both hear the lie.

Scott is silent, but those big, soft, brown eyes look up into his, and he _can't_ , Derek just can't.

The older man tears himself away from that gaze, from the wide open heart that he's going to break, from the devotion and empathy that he doesn't deserve.

Derek _runs_ out the door, and Scott can see him changing as he goes.

“Fuck,” the Alpha mutters as he slides down the kitchen wall, curling his arms around his knees and resting his forehead on them.

-

“ _Fuck_ , Peter...” Stiles can barely get the words out as Peter scrapes his teeth across Stiles' throat, hands slowly unbuttoning the boy's jeans.

The wolf smirks.

“Maybe if you're lucky.”

Stiles' heart-rate ticks up at that, and Peter chuckles low, before finally succeeding in freeing Stiles from the confines of the denim.

“Asshole.”

Stiles mutters the term fondly, and Peter grins and applies his teeth to the human's ear before whispering into it.

“Oh yes, definitely there.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and he's about to say something, but Peter slides the jeans down, tugging them off with a swift motion, and then he's on his knees before Stiles.

Stiles has always thought that getting your dick sucked would make you feel strong and powerful, but he feels like he's going to pass out and explode and fall down all at the same time.

“Jesus _fucking_ christ,” because Stiles can't shut up even now, “Oh my god.”

Peter pulls back just long enough to smirk up at him and say, “Just Peter is fine.”

“You son of a-ohmygod!” Stiles is so fucking glad the wall is holding him up because Peter hollows his cheeks and _sucks,_ and his hand is sliding along just behind Stiles' balls, and he's about five seconds away from collapsing or coming, he's not even sure.

Peter seems to sense this, because he pulls away, literally scoops Stiles off his feet and tosses him onto the bed, before crawling right over him.

Stiles blinks slowly up at him, and then the eyes screw shut tightly as he feels Peter's teeth at his neck again.

He fists his hands in Peter's shirt and mumbles something about him wearing too much clothing, and Peter chuckles in his ear, and asks if he's going to do something about it, and _oh_ _yes_ , yes he is.

Stiles tugs at the shirt and the older man graciously lifts up off of Stiles, settling back on his heels as Stiles sits up and pulls it off, throwing it to the side somewhere.

Which has Peter all huffy about his designer threads, until Stiles leans in and presses a tentative kiss to the center of Peter's chest.

He looks up at Peter's face because the werewolf has gone completely still, and catches a moment that Stiles is absolutely certain he's not supposed to see.

Peter looks... _raw_ , there's no other word for it, open and tender, if Stiles didn't know better, he would have called that _longing_.

It's quickly covered up by the return of Peter's habitual smugness, as he drags his hand through Stiles' hair, and then tugs him forward by it just a bit.

Stiles files it away for further study when he's not so engaged in doing something, and he resumes trailing kisses across the exposed skin in front of him, daring to use his teeth after a few moments.

Peter's reaction is a hitched breath and a slight tightening of the hand tangled in his hair, but it's enough, because Stiles is always, _always_ observing.

And right now he's making a spreadsheet in his mind of what Peter does and doesn't react well to.

He reaches out and wraps his hands around Peter's hips, thumbs caressing as he suddenly presses forward, and starts sucking a mark just to the side of Peter's belly button.

Peter's reaction is heartening, he arches into Stiles mouth, and Stiles feels the prick of claws at his scalp, and he hears a tiny intake of breath.

_That one goes into the “Does” column._

The mark fades quickly and Stiles may or may not pout slightly, but his mind is already racing ahead to how Peter might sound when he's being sucked off, so Stiles reaches for the zipper and tugs it down.

He looks up at Peter, who is watching his hands a little _too_ intently, and Stiles files that information away as a possible hand kink.

Stiles folds the zippered flap back and tugs the jeans down around Peter's ass, and leaves them there, because he's distracted by Peter's dick in front of him.

He can't help but compare with his own a moment, and then Stiles reaches out, curling one hand around Peter's length lightly, just feeling it.

It's the same as his really, and yet different, thicker and uncut, and Stiles thinks of what _he_ likes, and then tightens the grip and slides experimentally.

Peter's cock twitches in his hand and Stiles grins up at him, to see the older man clenching his jaw, and arching a brow down at the younger man.

“Are you going to _do_ something or just sit there?”

Peter's voice comes out just a bit breathless and he scowls, because he shouldn't be _reacting_ so strongly, they've barely even done anything for christ sake.

Stiles narrows his eyes in that way he has when he's been challenged, and he darts his head forward and takes Peter's length into his mouth, pressing forward all the way until he feels the head pressing against the back of his throat, and then he loosens, relaxes in a specific way, and Peter swears as he feels himself pressing into that tight channel.

“Son of a- Fucking _hell_ , Stiles.”

Stiles moans around him, and Peter almost loses it there, but he moves his hand, curling it against his thigh and digging his claws into his hand.

Stiles moves back after a moment, taking a deep breath of air, and then smirking up at him, the little shit.

“I've been practicing with a ..a _thing.._ I bought online.”

The wolf twitches again as he sees Stiles in his mind, fucking his own mouth with a dildo just to be ready for Peter.

“ _Jesus_ , Stiles.”

Peter can't resist shoving Stiles backward and kissing him breathless again.

“You did that for me?” he murmurs softly again Stiles' lips. “Practiced taking a cock into your mouth, filling your throat with it, thought about it being mine? You're amazing.”

Peter keeps kissing him, fucking the boy's mouth with his tongue, exploring its sweetness, until Stiles is moaning and arching up against him, and then he slides back, divesting himself of the rest of his clothing.

Stiles watching him with lust glazed eyes and reaches for him as he comes back to the bed.

Peter slides into those arms, and wraps his tightly around his mate as their lips meet again, and their hips shift and roll, rutting up against each other.

_No, not mate_ , Peter scolds himself. He really needs to stop that. Stiles will never stay here with him that long.

Somehow Stiles senses something, because he pulls back and furrows his brows at Peter, but the werewolf is _not_ interested in having this talk right now. Or ever.

So Peter licks his palm, and watches Stiles watch his tongue, and then his hand, as Peter reaches down and wraps it around both of them at the same time.

Stiles gasps and bites his lower lip as his eyes flutter shut, and Peter _has_ to lean forward and suck it into his mouth, away from the teeth worrying at it, as he starts stroking them off together.

Peter uses his free hand to slide across Stiles' chest, thumbing at the stiff peak of one of his nipples.

Stiles groans and he pulls back, tugging his lips from Peter's and then attacks the werewolf's neck, biting down hard.

Peter's hips jerk, and his hand tightens, as he issues a breathy moan because that _fucking_ mouth at his neck, well, Peter has entire fantasies built around that.

He quickens his pace, stripping them both efficiently and Stiles moans again, muffled by Peter's neck, and then he suddenly pulls his head back to breathe Peter's name softly.

That's the only warning Peter gets, because then Stiles' dick is pulsing in his hand, and Peter turns his head down to watch the come spurting onto both of them.

He uses it to lubricate them even further, continuing the strokes of his hand, and Peter follows him over the edge soon after, thinking about Stiles' seed spread all over him.

A few more lazy tugs and then Peter unwraps his hand, bringing his lips to Stiles' again for a few soft kisses, as he draws his finger through the come covering both of them, mixing their scents, and rubbing it into both abdomens.

Stiles opens his eyes, pupils wide and dark and then blinks and looks down a moment.

“Really?”

He wrinkles up his nose and Peter has to press a kiss to it.

“Really.” Peter is smug once again. “I'm marking you with my scent.”

Stiles thinks that over a minute, and then slowly his lips turn up into a smirk matching Peter's.

“I'm pretty sure that means that you're being marked with my scent as well.”

Peter shrugs as nonchalantly as he can, but Stiles continues.

“And I think you _like_ being marked by me.”

Peter closes his eyes and lays on his back, so that he doesn't have to look at Stiles. Because that's another truth that he's not interested in facing right now.

Stiles, however, is already off on his tangent. “I wonder if there's some way to keep them. There's always the next eclipse. Or maybe some mild strain of wolfsbane..”

He keeps talking to himself, and Peter just lets himself float a moment, enjoying the feel of Stiles' skin against his, and the mix of their scents heavy in the room.

Peter isn't really paying attention when Stiles' moves, but suddenly there's a tongue swiping across his skin and his eyes fly wide open to see Stiles lapping at the pool of mixed fluids and his cock immediately takes an interest.

Stiles turns to look at it, and then back at Peter with an eyebrow arched.

“Already?”

Peter grins.

“ _Werewolf_.”

-

It's three hours before Derek comes home.

He sees Scott sitting in his kitchen on the floor, and goes to his knees in front of his Alpha.

Scott blinks blearily up at him, and then smiles. Fucking _smiles_.

“Hey you.”

Derek doesn't deserve him. He tells Scott as much.

“Derek Hale, you deserve _everything_ nice in this world, and I'm going to see that you get them no matter what.”

Derek doesn't know what to do with that, simply shakes his head and sits beside the younger man, laying his head on Scott's shoulder after a minute.

Scott leans his head to the side, pressing his cheek against the top of Derek's head.

It's another hour before Derek starts to speak, haltingly and then with more strength.

He tells Scott all about Kate, everything that she did to him, how she manipulated him into a relationship, into sex, into betraying his family. How she broke something deep inside him, twisted him so that he could never trust himself with a relationship again, made it so that he _knew_ just what a worthless, useless _thing_ he was.

Derek tells Scott how it took a long time away with Laura to even _start_ getting himself together, how being the Alpha and creating his own pack had started to make him feel like he might be worth something after all, and how being mind controlled and _used_ by Jennifer, the Alpha pack, and Scott himself, had kicked that shaky foundation out from beneath him.

He tells Scott about his feelings for Stiles. Which are weird and messy and _complicated_. Because he maybe falls into the same category as everyone else Derek falls for, and maybe he _knows_ that he and Stiles would tear each other to ribbons, break each other even more, and then flame out. Because Derek is emotionally self-destructive.

Derek tells Scott about Paige and Cora, and all the ways that his uncle has manipulated him his whole life.

He carefully lays out all the reasons that he's a really bad choice for a life partner, a really bad choice for a boyfriend, and a really bad choice for a friend.

It's much easier when Derek doesn't have to look at Scott, when he can just pretend he's merely saying aloud all the things that he thinks about when he's alone.

Derek slowly trails off into silence about five in the morning. Scott has been quiet, _listening_ , this entire time.

The beta keeps waiting for Scott to say something, but he doesn't, so Derek finally turns to him, and meets the gentle, caring eyes that have been watching him for hours.

Scott smiles at him again, that goddamned smile that somehow makes him feels like everything's going to be okay when it's _not_.

“Thank you.”

Derek blinks once, twice, keeps blinking silently because he's having trouble processing.

“What?”

Scott turns slightly, reaches out and brushes his knuckles against Derek's cheek.

“Thank you for telling me. It's important that I know how you feel. It's important that you trusted me with how you feel.”

The Alpha moves his hand to twine his fingers with Derek's. The older man looks down and studies their hands.

“I am so, so sorry for my part in all that, Derek. There was a lot I didn't know, and I should never have used your body without your permission. I need you to know that it won't happen again.”

Derek shrugs. “It's okay, Scott. It's not a big deal.”

Scott uses his free hand to lift Derek's chin.

“Yeah. It is.”

Derek looks into those big brown eyes and believes him.

“Okay.”

“The second thing I need you to know, Derek Hale, is that I'm not leaving you. Ever. I'm not leaving Beacon Hills, I'm not leaving this pack, I'm not leaving _you_.”

This one Derek doesn't believe, but Scott doesn't call him on it.

Scott just smiles, somewhat sadly this time, and starts to lean forward like he's going to kiss Derek, but then stops, because of what happened the last time he'd done so.

Derek looks at him a minute, and then leans in and offers Scott a soft kiss.

Scott follows Derek's lead, not deepening it until the older man instigates it.

The Alpha's free hand slides up to curl around the back of Derek's neck, keeping him anchored while he kisses Derek deeply.

When Derek starts to pull back, Scott lets go immediately, grinning a bit at the look in Derek's eyes.

“We good?”

Derek nods slowly after a minute, and then Scott hops up, tugging Derek to his feet.

“How about I buy you breakfast? And then maybe we can take a nap together.”

Derek offers up a shy smile. “I can do that.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles has been living with Peter for three weeks when he comes home after school with an ancient looking wooden box.

As soon as Peter catches its scent, he takes an involuntary step backwards.

It smells like death. Rotten meat, burned bones, old blood, wolfsbane, and other poisons he knows the scent but not the name of.

“Stiles, get _that_ out of my house.”

Peter's eyes flash blue and his claws and fangs are out, and he's having the werewolf equivalent of a panic attack.

“Oh fuck, I forgot,” Stiles apologizes and then whispers something, and the scents and the oppressive feeling just vanish, and Peter can breathe again.

“What in the nine hells _is_ that?”

Stiles grins and wiggles it at the werewolf.

“Magic.”

-

“I hate this idea.”

“It's either your or Deaton. Would you rather have his hands all over me?”

Peter snarls before he can stop himself, and then half-sighs, half-laughs as he gives in.

“Fine. I'll do it. But it will cost you.”

Stiles widens his eyes, and looks up at Peter with such an innocent and sweet expression, that Peter is forced to throw the boy over his shoulder and take him into the bedroom.

He tosses Stiles on the bed and sucks the human's lower lip into his mouth, before leaving it be, in order to press kisses all along his jaw and neck.

Peter takes the opportunity to mark that swan neck, a love bite that will last a good long while, and then returns to Stiles' lips, lavishing attention on them until they're reddened and kiss-swollen, and that wide eyed innocence is replaced with glazed desire.

Peter slowly divests Stiles of his clothing, unwrapping him like a precious gift, kissing every inch of skin that is revealed.

Stiles is squirming and already leaking by the time Peter has him completely undressed, and the wolf takes Stiles' dick into his mouth without hesitation, holding the boy's hips down so that he can't move, just take what Peter does to him.

Peter slowly takes Stiles apart with his mouth, waiting until Stiles is fisting the sheets and whimpering for him to just fuck him already.

And then he pulls back, licking his lips, and shakes his head.

“No.”

Peter pulls down his zip, freeing his aching length from the too-tight jeans and strokes himself quickly, not bothering with finesse. It's maybe a couple minutes before he gasps out and his dick pulses in his hand.

Peter directs his come onto Stiles, shooting hot streams of white onto the boy's torso and flushed cock, still standing at attention. Stiles moans and lays back from where he had been watching Peter touch himself, focuses on the fact that Peter is covering him with his scent.

So he's surprised when he feels a hand on him again, and the eyes flutter open wide to watch Peter spread his seed along Stiles' dick, slicking it up and then jacking him off, hard and fast.

It's too much, and Stiles whimpers as he finishes, back arching as his fluids mix with Peter's.

Peter steps back with a smirk, licking his hand clean before tucking himself away, and eying the blissed out human on his bed.

“There you go.”

“You're an asshole,” came the weak reply.

“That's why you love me.”

As soon as he said it, Peter knew it was a mistake. The come back had been automatic but Peter didn't want to make any sorts of declarations like that.

He didn't want to trap Stiles with him out of any sense of obligation. He was well aware that Stiles would not want to be with him forever.

Peter turns and leaves the room, acting like it's planned and not him running away from the depth of his feelings for the boy.

Because he does love Stiles. He loves him so much that it _hurts_ , like a fist squeezing around his chest.  

_Love is weakness_ , he reminds himself as he leans over the kitchen sink, and just breathes.

-

By the time Stiles comes out with his vial of mixed fluids, Peter is under control again, scrambling some eggs for an omelette.

The boy carefully sets the vial inside the disgusting wooden box, and that _still_ makes Peter nervous even though he can't smell it anymore.

Next he comes for Peter's blood, and the wolf doesn't make a sound as Stiles simply grabs his arm, cuts into it, and lets it drip into a bowl. Peter doesn't even stop cooking.

Stiles adds his own blood and swirls it, and Peter gets the medkit because of course Stiles cuts too deep, and now he's bleeding everywhere.

“You're an idiot,” Peter tells him, but the tone is completely fond, and Stiles smirks.

“I'm your idiot. ... _forever_...”

Peter rolls his eyes and bandages his lover up and then returns to cooking, settling the eggs on two plates.

He puts one before Stiles and digs into the other.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, then Peter tilts his head. “What's next?”

“I need to burn our hair to ash and then mix it in, but I'll go outside for that.”

Peter nods, and then furrows a brow. “Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

Stiles looks up and nods. “Absolutely.”

-

“This was not.. supposed.. to happen.”

The words are punched out, as Stiles is doubling over with the sheer weight of the emotions, the darkness that is settling on his heart.

Peter is just as shell-shocked, but because his head is full of these rapidly flittering butterflies of thoughts, and he can't catch one, and he can't find his own thoughts, and he's trapped in his head chasing them.

Stiles drags himself around, tears running down his face at the deep sadness, and then gasps when he sees Peter's blank face.

“No, _No_. Peter. peter, please. Look at me. LOOK AT ME.”

He cups the werewolf's face in his hands and he can't think of what to do, so Stiles kisses him, and it works, it seems to work, because Peter blinks slowly and then his face clears and he looks at Stiles, really _looks_ and recognizes.

“Stiles,” he says softly, but then his eyes start to fade out again, and Stiles gasps as a deep yawning pit of grief and loneliness punches him in the face.

His back twinges, still bleeding from the tattooing, but Stiles can barely feel the physical pain over the emotional.

Stiles drags his way over to the box, grabbing the scrolls inside, desperately sorting through them.

It's an hour, maybe more, of constant self-destructive darkness weighing him down, before Stiles finds what he had been looking for, and quickly reads, then crawls back to Peter.

He puts his palms over the motionless wolf's temples, and whispers an incantation softly, and then slots his lips to the older man's again.

This time is sticks. Stiles is certain because Peter startles and then he goes full wolf and runs out the door.

The human is left kneeling in the middle of the living room, blood dripping down his back, crying.

-

That's how Scott and Deaton find him.

“Stiles! What did you do?”

Stiles blinks up as Scott is wiping his back off with a wet cloth.

“It was supposed to be a protection spell. I didn't.. It wasn't supposed to _happen_ like this.”

“This is why we don't mess with things we don't understand, Stiles.”

Deaton's voice is annoyingly calm.

He shakes his head. “No, I had everything right. I _did_ understand it.”

Stiles is insistent. He'd done all his research!

“Werewolves, Stiles. You don't understand werewolves.”

“Um, yeah, I think I do. I'm the one who got Scott through his first full moon, and figured out what he was with no help from everybody else-”

“Do you know how werewolves bond, Stiles?” Deaton interrupts.

Stiles shrugs a bit. “Same way everybody else does, some quality time together, a date, maybe some sexytimes...”

Deaton pinches the bridge of his nose.

“ _Magically_ , Stiles. Do you know why?”

“Wait, what? I mean I know they're magical but they can't really _use_ magic, well except for Peter, and hey, why is that doc? I've always wondered.”

“For _protection_ , Stiles.”

“I mean Scott sort of used magic when he- What.”

“Exactly." Deaton sighs. "Congratulations, Stiles. You've just formed a pack bond with Peter Hale.”

"Shit."

“It's worse than that.” Derek's voice comes in through the doorway. “It's a mate bond.”

Stiles' head whips around to him.

“You know, I really hate that thing you do where you don't know anything until it's too late, and then all of a sudden you're the werewolf guru of knowled- WAIT WHAT?!”

Scott nods. “ _That_ 's why it feels...different.”

“Hold on. Back up. Oh my god. Did I just.”

Stiles grabs hold of Derek's shirt and shakes him. Or would if Derek wasn't an immovable rock of a wolf.

“Tell me I didn't just force myself on Peter, that I didn't just.. _Tell me_ , Derek.”

Derek arches a brow at the hands wrinkling his clothing and Stiles back off, lifting his hands in the universal symbol of _Don't rip my throat out with your teeth, it wasn't my fault_.

“Are you sure, Derek?” Deaton looks mildly curious.

Derek nods. “Peter's confirmed it. He's felt it before, of course.”

He turns to Stiles. “You can't _really_ force the bond on someone. They _have_ to be receptive. However, it usually grows over time, and doesn't just hit all at once. He's a bit...surprised.”

Stiles is quiet a moment, thinking over Derek's words. “He's felt it before.” The voice is flat.

“Of course.” Derek arches a brow. “His first mate died in the fire.”

Stiles runs to the bathroom and throws up.

-

Stiles finds Peter in the Hale family cemetery, deep in the Preserve.

He knew exactly where to go, as if Peter was the end sticky point on a google map. He just follows the blue line in his head.

Stiles settles down quietly next to Peter, opens his mouth a few times to say something and then closes it again.

Eventually he settles on a quiet apology.

“Peter, I am so sorry. I didn't know...”

Peter doesn't react for a long moment. “He was impulsive and reckless too.”

There's another long expanse of silence.

“Deaton told me how to break it.” Stiles' voice is small. “You need to cut across the tattoo.”

“Stiles..” Peter start to say something, but stops.

He can't hide from Stiles now though. And Stiles can't hide from him.

A warmth floods through the part of Peter's soul that is Stiles, as the boy realizes that Peter doesn't _want_ to break it.

"You like me, you _really_ like me!"

Peter shakes his head, scowling. “Just because I don't want to break it, doesn't mean that it shouldn't be broken.”

Stiles side eyes Peter. “Um, yes, that's exactly what it means.”

“You shouldn't be stuck with me, Stiles.”

And there's that roiling blackness again, and Stiles can pick out the individual elements of the toxic mixture, self-loathing, guilt, fear.

“I _love_ you, Peter.”

Peter turns to look at him, but there's no lie on that face, no skip of beating heart, and the emotion that he can feel is pure, no reservations, no maybes.

“Stiles, you can't possibly want this. You need to go to college, experience the world, not be tied down here.”

“Peter Hale, you're an idiot.” Stiles leans in and kisses Peter softly. "We can do it together."

-

“And you're sure that this one isn't going to mess with my head again?”

Peter's voice is teasing but there's an undercurrent of fear that only Stiles can sense, and he reaches out and squeezes his mate's hand.

“This time there's a professional doing it.” Deaton looks at Stiles significantly, and the boy shrugs.

“Hey, you _said_ magic user. Peter is a magic user. Also. You never did explain his ability...”

Deaton purses his lips and instead of answering, jabs the needle into Stiles' side.

Who yelps and narrows his eyes at the druid.

“Hold still, Stiles.”

The human mutters and clenches his jaw, holding onto Peter tightly.

“Only my son could get himself accidentally married for life.” The Sheriff is watching the proceedings as Scott explains why.

“Hey, I nabbed me one hot piece of man meat, you ought to be proud.” Peter eyes him, then shakes his head, but Stiles can feel the smugness.

“Yeah but your poor husband got himself a fixer-upper.”

“Hey!” Stiles glares at his dad, then squeaks as Deaton jabs him again.

“Hold still, Stiles.”

“Mate,” Peter corrects the Sheriff. “Husbands are for human wedding ceremonies.”

“I don't have to pay for _that_ do I?”

Deaton mutters under his breath. “Actually, since he's my apprentice, and Peter is Scott's beta, the two of us are by tradition in charge of the preparations.”

The Sheriff eyes his son. “Well when are you going to make an honest man out of Peter?”

“I'm a little- ow, dammit doc- busy- _oh my god_ \- right now.”

Stiles can feel the warmth of Peter's amusement, and both his dad and his best friend are laughing at him.

He points at Scott with his free hand as Deaton starts tattooing the other.

“You don't have any room to talk. How are things going with Derek?”

-

Stiles ends up with seven tattoos.

There's the mating one at the small of his back, that started out as nordic rune, but somehow shifted itself to look like a black wolf head with blue eyes.

Peter really, _really_ likes that one. It creates this feedback loop when he touches it while deep inside Stiles, and well... _he just really likes it_.

The new protection one looks a bit like a red snowflake and covers Stiles' entire left shoulder, wrapping around front to back.

He's got a triple spiral on his right side in a pale blue, similar to Derek's only his is more wispy and means something completely different, for his helps him call the wind.

Both arms get lightning bolts down their underside, on in tribal black, the other in invisible white.

His right ankle gets a wing, which helps him keep up with the werewolves.

And finally, over his heart he gets a kanji which will help him heal. Not as fast as the wolves, but faster than a normal human.

It takes almost six months to finish them all but once they're done, they form a net of protection and power around the young mage.

The next time the Pack has to go up against something nasty, Stiles defeats it singlehandedly.

Of course, Stiles being Stiles, he does a victory dance around the corpse, repeating his mantra.

_"You're not Pack, Stiles...skinny, defenseless Stiles...someone has to protect Stiles.”_

He stops and kicks the creature.

“Not any more, motherfucker.”

-

Stiles gets accepted into Berkeley.

He takes all the offered online classes, and drives to campus two days a week for other classes.

Sometimes Peter goes with him, and spends the day shopping.

One day, in the second semester of Stiles' junior year, he comes out of class to find Peter standing there with flowers.

Stiles arcs a brow as he comes up to Peter, tilting his chin down to kiss Peter. (He's taller than the wolf now.)

“Is today something special?”

Peter goes down on one knee and opens a ring box, lifting it up to his mate.

“Yes.”

-

Stiles and Peter get married three years later, in a quiet ceremony in the middle of the Preserve, surrounded by their Pack.

They spend three months on honeymoon, traveling the world, and then settle back home in Beacon Hills to start their life together.

**Author's Note:**

> > Inspiration: Sail by AWOLNATION
>> 
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